


A House Divided

by Sondok595



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sondok595/pseuds/Sondok595
Summary: Azula was made a "monster" by those responsible for her upbringing, but her governess, Ursa's younger sister, was a misguided child herself. A story of good intentions and youthful hubris that left behind a princess, a family, and a world scarred beyond recognition.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to various Chinese Communist propaganda songs, where I pretty much just replaced the words with Avatar vocabulary.

Lyra didn't understand most of the content of the conversations swirling around her, so instead she chose to focus on her roast duck, which was the most succulent and flavorful that she'd ever had. She wolfed down the meat, happy to be ignored while she savored the fragrant juices released every time she chewed. She didn't mind that she was not seated at the high table on a raised dais with her sister and parents, but had instead been relegated to a table far to the back of the ornate red and gold hall where the wedding feast was being held, along with the rest of her siblings. Here she could enjoy the rich food and drink rather than be expected to behave like a "proper young lady".

"Don't you see why we're sitting all the way back here?" Lyra could hear her oldest brother hissing to his wife. "He's already trying to push us out of Ursa's life."

Lihuang, Yizheng's wife, made no response to his mutinous tirades, but merely murmured, "I wonder when they'll have a baby."

Lihuang and Yizheng had been married for two years. Lyra remembered her excitement at the festivities - she thought Lihuang might be like a sister. However, she was immediately disappointed to discover that Lihuang was the epitome of a "proper young lady". All she cared about was sewing and children - having as many of them as possible. She had already had one baby - a boy called Xinglu - and she was pregnant with her second.

"Soon enough, I expect," Zhongwei, Lyra's second brother spat venomously. "They'll want a son they can hone into a little tyrant."

"Maybe it will be a girl," Lyra heard herself piping up, surprising herself. "Maybe they'll hone her into a little tyrant." She didn't know what the words "hone" or "tyrant" meant, but she thought it must be good.

Yizheng spared her one disparaging glance. "Women can't be tyrants. You have to rule to be a tyrant and women don't rule."

"But Fire Lady Ilah rules, doesn't she?" Lyra asked.

"No, you little fool," Zhongwei snapped. "Fire Lord Azulon rules. Fire Lady Ilah just has babies."

"That's stupid," Lyra countered dully.

"Shut up before I box your ears," Zhongwei threatened, his eyes narrowing menacingly at her and his fist tightening around his mother-of-peal embellished chopsticks.

Obediently, Lyra looked back down at her plate, but she had lost her appetite. This always happened; she knew that it was stupid that women couldn't rule, but she didn't have the words to articulate why. She was sure the answers lay in the scrolls stacked in their small family library, but they all had such complicated titles like A Treatise on Sun Dynasty Political Discourse, and Military Strategy: Walk toward Victory and Avoid Defeat.

Lyra was back to being ignored now, but she silently resolved that she would make her only younger brother, Taoping, teach her what he was learning when they got back home. He had been deemed too young to attend the wedding, and so had been left behind with Master Wu, the tutor. Wu only came for Taoping anymore - Lyra's two elder brothers were already grown, and it had not been deemed necessary to educate Lyra. She knew how to read, but the only practice she ever got was with household accounts and religious admonishments for women to be obedient. If she wanted to prove Zhongwei and Yizheng wrong, she knew she'd need to do more.

As the festivities drew to a close, Lyra gratefully stumbled toward the carriage that was waiting to take them to their ship, bleary-eyed and almost too full to move. She felt herself being steered into a line with the rest of her family. Being the youngest, she was shepherded to the very end.

Her sister Ursa, the new princess, appeared, looking beautiful in her red wedding finery. It seemed to Lyra that she floated past all of them to her parents, seeming almost ethereal, as though she had already taken on the otherworldly quality that royalty seemed to possess.

The voice that drifted on the hot breeze past Lyra was still her sister's though, and it seemed sad. "Mother, father. You- you've always been good to me. I will bring you honor." Ursa's voice cracked on the last word and Lyra watched them, expecting them to embrace. Instead her mother said, voice thick with emotion, "May your life be filled with happiness and prosperity, your majesty."

One by one, her sister worked down the line, wishing them farewell. It seemed odd to Lyra that it had such a final quality to it. Surely they'd at least visit?

When it was Lyra's turn, she couldn't help but be struck speechless by her sister's seeming effortless grace. Her glossy black hair was twisted into an elegant halo around her head; and her robes, far finer and more exquisite than anything their father could have ever provided them, glittered in the moonlight.

"I'll miss you, Lyra," Ursa said. "You're going to be a beautiful lady someday soon."

Lyra bowed dutifully at this majestic being. "Thank you, your highness," she said mechanically as she had been taught by their mother that they must call Ursa now. She looked up into Ursa's eyes and was surprised to see them shining with tears. Why did she look so sad? She was going to be a princess now. No more chores or sharing a room - it sounded wonderful to Lyra.

Ursa held her gaze one moment longer before sweeping up the stairs to join her new husband, Prince Ozai, where they both bowed. "Come along everyone, into the carriage," her mother herded them into the carriage. Lyra got in without complaint, tired as she was, but did not miss how her mother backed into the vehicle, craning to get one last look at Ursa, while her father already had his face pressed to the window like a child. Lihuang was dabbing at her eyes with a kerchief. Even Zhongwei and Yizheng looked rather pensive, though either they were either less moved or better at hiding their emotions than the other occupants of the carriage.

Lyra didn't think too much about it. She didn't even look out the window. There would be time enough to see Ursa again. She slept the entire ride to the ship.

...

Lyra did not see Ursa again. It would be some time before she understood the emotion in her parents' eyes when they had bade their oldest daughter goodbye at her wedding - they had realized what Lyra had not. Their daughter was theirs no longer - she belonged to the prince.

For her part, Lyra soon forgot about her mysterious older sister. Gossip soon faded around the market where she went with her mother to sell their melons once people realized that no benefit had been bestowed upon the family - or perhaps it increased, but this was not for their ears. Lyra was simply glad to have her own room, and soon all vestiges of Ursa disappeared from the space they had once shared. Occasionally she saw her mother clutching some trinkets that had belonged to Ursa and weeping, but Lyra shed no tears. She had never known Ursa, so she did not miss her.

Lyra had returned from the wedding with the resolve to better herself, and that had been unshaken. Taoping had been reluctant at first, thinking it sounded like extra work for him, but Lyra had bullied, cajoled, and threatened him so persistently that he eventually gave in.

"T - Thus, if your rank is low, and you do not have the support of those in power, you cannot hope to have an influence on government. Therefore the Superior man cannot but cultivate his character," Lyra read haltingly from the scroll. "Wanting to cultivate his character, he cannot do it without serving his parents. Wanting to serve his parents, he cannot do it without understanding others. Wanting to understand others, he cannot do it without understanding Heaven."

"Yeah, I can read it too," Taoping said dismissively, uncrossing and recrossing his legs as he maneuvered into a more comfortable position. The pair were sitting under a tree on a secluded hill outside their village where they went every afternoon so Taoping could teach Lyra what he had learned that day with Master Wu. "But what does it mean?"

Lyra leaned back against the tree, considering for a moment. "I think it's saying that if we want to make people in power do what we want, we need to understand what they want."

"Hmm," Taoping took a moment to mull over her answer. "But what about that parents bit? And heaven?"

Lyra leaned forward and reread the lines in question. "I guess he's saying we need to be virtuous people too to make people do what we want. And the way to become virtuous is by serving your parents." She paused, working through the implications of Master Kong's admonishment to 'understand heaven'. "And if we want to understand people, we need to know what the gods want?" she offered.

Taoping snorted. "Well great advice, Master Kong. How can anyone understand what the gods want?"

Lyra put the scroll back down on the grass and made herself comfortable in between the tree roots where she had seated herself. "Yeah that part's stupid," she decided aloud. "But I think the other part is good."

"What part?" Taoping replied lazily. "The one about parents?"

"No," Lyra retorted. "Where he said if we are low rank and want to gain the support of those in power, we need to understand them and then cultivate a character that would make them think you think the same things as them."

Taoping grabbed the scroll off the ground and reread the section they had been studying. "That's not what he said! He just said 'cultivate character'. That means being virtuous."

Lyra tutted at him. "Well if our leaders aren't virtuous, why would they be impressed by someone of low-rank who is?"

"Shh," Taoping hushed her nervously. "You shouldn't stay stuff like that, Lyra. I don't think it's allowed."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Who could hear us up here, Taoping?" She continued rashly, "Anyway, think about who this Master Kong is. He worked for nobles. He had to flatter them. And if people read this dribble and actually believe it, then the Royal Family gets the benefit of a law-abiding populace."

The pair sat in silence after this declaration for a few minutes. Lyra then added quietly, "That doesn't mean we can't learn something from it, though."

Lyra continued perusing the scrolls quietly while Taoping remained in his prostrate position until the sun began to dip behind the mountains on the horizon.

When they could no longer read the characters in the dimming light, but neither one was quite ready to leave, Lyra picked up her jinghu that she had brought along, and began to eke out a tune.

The jinghu was a jolly little fiddle, but in low light and deep shadow, it sounded almost mournful. When the last note of the aptly named The Night is Deep had disappeared into the wind, sounding almost like a wail, the evening was definitely darker, and the pair stirred.

"Yeah," Lyra agreed regretfully. They gathered the scrolls into Lyra's bag and began trudging back home.

"You don't believe anything that the masters write," Taoping remarked as they made their way down the dirt path that led down the hill.

"Well they're all just a bunch of stuffy old men," Lyra replied as she gingerly avoided the sharp rocks scattered across the path, wary of her bare feet.

"So is everyone who ever wrote anything," Taoping huffed as he struggled to keep pace with her. Lyra, at ten years old, had longer legs "I'm sure a woman has written something," Lyra mused. "I just have to find it."

"You two are filthy," their mother admonished them as they trudged through the door. "Both of you, go wash your feet. Then Lyra, get in here and help me with this food."

Taoping and Lyra made a face at one another before obediently trudging out to the well to draw a bucket of water.

...

The spread on the table looked delicious. Lyra was famished - she had not eaten since breakfast. They had cut melons from the farm, steamed bok choy, and a whole chicken to divide between the seven people seated at the table. Though she would never admit it, Lyra found herself glad that her two oldest brothers were at the front - she could never have hoped for a piece of chicken had the two additional men been there. Hopefully with just Lihuang and her children, her parents and brother, she might get a piece. The family had just seated themselves on the floor around the table when Lyra's father raised his hand for quiet. They quickly fell quiet. "There was a royal announcement in the village square today. A child has been born of Prince Ozai and Princess Ursa. A girl. They've called her Azula, in honor of Fire Lord Azulon. It is said she was born with a great spark in her eyes."

"Ah, a firebender!" Lyra's mother smiled. "How lucky!"

Lyra's father shook his head, a grave expression on his face. "Perhaps in sixteen years when she has a child. For now we need more soldiers and capable generals."

"But Father," Taoping squeaked nervously. "We have women firebending masters. Why can't Azula be a general?"

Lyra's father's eyes flicked suspiciously between her and Taoping, but she determinedly avoided his gaze.

"Because, my son, we don't have women in our armies," he answered calmly after a moment.

"But why?"

Lyra's mother answered this time. "Because then who would take care of the families left at home? We all have our places, Taoping."

Lyra found she could hold in her indignation no longer. "But surely Azula won't have to worry about taking care of her family. That's why the Royal Family has servants and governesses and tutors. She'll be able to do whatever she likes!" she spouted out.

There was a pregnant pause at the table. To Lyra's surprise, it was Lihuang who broke it, addressing Taoping. "Your sister has been filling your head with ideas. Men are supposed to fight and lead and make decisions. Women are meant to obey. It's in our nature." Lihuang almost never spoke at the table, and Lyra found herself wishing that she could leap across the table and punch Lihuang's stupid simpering face so she wouldn't open her mouth again.

The conversation soon drifted to the peculiarities of the weather and how they would affect the melon grove, and everyone dug into the food, but Lyra found she had lost her appetite. How could no one else see that the excuses made for limiting women were stupid and false?


	2. Chapter 2

Taoping burst into the house excitedly, making a huge racket. "The traveling book man is here!"

Lyra jerked out of her seat in excitement, thrusting her abysmal needlework to the side. She had been confined to the sitting room with her mother and Lihuang, mending clothes. "In the village? Right now?"

Nodding excitedly, Taoping replied, "Yes, down by the river."

Lyra hurriedly turned to her mother. "Mom, can we go? Please?"

Lyra's mother's eyes seemed tired as they surveyed her. "We don't have any money to spare, Lyra," she said wearily.

"But Mom…" she protested.

Her mother sat back on her heels. "I'm sorry, children, but every penny must go to Master Wu. We just can't spare for luxuries. But you may go if you just want to look."

Lyra made a disparaging noise and tore out of the room without a second glance behind; Taoping close behind her.

"Do you still want to go?" he asked breathlessly as he followed her into her room. "What are we doing in here?"

Lyra headed straight for the lone wardrobe in the room, ignoring him. She forcefully wrenched open the bottom drawer and began digging around it ferociously, depositing various odds and ends on the stone floor. Taoping watched, perplexed, as the pile of cracked pots of rouge, hair pins, and old theater brochures grew as Lyra craned her arm towards the very back of the drawer. Finally she seemed to extract something.

"Here! I knew it was still in there somewhere" she held up a trinket triumphantly. Taoping leaned in for a closer look. It was a necklace - dull gold, but with a very attractive fire lily pendant.

"Where did you get that?" Taoping said, an envious edge in his voice.

"It was Ursa's before she left," Lyra answered. "I bet we can trade it for some books."

"I don't know…" Taoping hedged. "I don't think Mom would like us bartering Ursa's things."

"It's not Ursa's anymore," Lyra retorted impatiently. "She left it here and never came back to get it, so it's mine."

"I guess you're right," Taoping shifted uncomfortably.

Lyra stuffed the necklace into the folds of her baggy pants. "You're such a baby, Taoping. Come on; let's get down there before he leaves!"

…

When the children arrived to the book man's cart, there were only a few stragglers perusing the wares in his cart. Lyra trudged boldly up the caravan and made to climb up to get a closer look before a shout stopped her.

"Hey! What are you doing there, you little brat?" the toothless old book merchant hissed at her, stumping over to where the children stood.

Thoroughly perplexed, Lyra answered honestly. "Looking for some books."

"You touch, you buy! And you two don't look like you have two copper pieces to rub together," he snapped disdainfully, spit hurtling past his shriveled lips.

Lyra hopped down from the step where she had extended a leg. "I can pay." She waved the necklace in front of his face. "How many books can we get for the necklace?"

The man snatched the necklace out of her hands and examined it more closely. After experimentally biting down on the pendant, he spat out harshly. "Five."

Lyra jutted her hip out indignantly. "Ten!"

The man spluttered at her. "Eight!"

Looking him in the eye, Lyra snapped back, "Eight and you give us four rolls of parchment and some ink."

"Fine!" the man made a show of pulling an angry expression and stomping to the front of his cart, but Lyra privately thought she had probably just been swindled. That was too easy. Taoping at least seemed suitably impressed as she pulled him up inside the caravan behind her. "You really showed him, Lyra! That was so cool!"

Lyra grimaced at him before setting herself down on the splintery wood of the cart to browse the limited selection. It was not an extensive collection, but still more books than Lyra was accustomed to seeing. Soon she was lost in the annals, trying to picture what forbidden knowledge each unassuming scroll might contain.

"Are you kids done?" a cranky voice filled the cramped space after some time. "It's almost dinnertime."

Lyra jerked up, almost losing her grip on the three scrolls she had already selected - The Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government, The Thirty-Six Strategies, and Fire Nation Classics for the Jinghu. "Don't you have anything written by a woman?" She questioned the merchant.

"A woman?" The old man looked genuinely confused. "Women don't write books."

"You must have something," Lyra persisted.

The man snorted and began rifling through some boxes he had set out on the steps up to the entrance. "I may have one thing," he said gruffly.

Lyra watched him with bated breath, and finally he extracted a worn little scroll from the very bottom and handed it to Lyra. She took it and examined it more closely, catching sight of the round insignia engraved on the stone roller. "This is from the Earth Kingdom!" she exclaimed.

"Sure is," the man nodded knowingly. "Soldier sold it to me a few months back. He got it from some nobleman's library after they had taken the city. Seems the nobleman's wife fancied herself a writer."

Lyra considered this. The Earth Kingdom was stupid and backwards, but perhaps she would learn something anyway. At least how not to be. And a book written by a woman was too tempting to pass up. "I'll take it," she declared, adding the book to the small hoard she was clutching to her chest. "Taoping, are you done?"

Her little brother appeared next to her, clutching his finds in his grubby hands. Mostly fairytales, Lyra noticed.

After the man had given them the agreed-upon ink and parchment, the two children set out on the path home; the fading light casting long shadows over the muddy lane. This part of town had more evidence of habitation; white structures with the curving red tile rooves dotting the dirt road. They encountered no one, but occasionally voices would drift out of the houses and they could catch the scent of grilled meat on the air.

"We shouldn't let Mom see these books," Lyra instructed Taoping quietly. "She'll want to know how we got them."

"I thought you said the necklace belonged to you now!" Taoping protested anxiously.

"Your abacus belongs to you, but Dad would still be mad if you sold it," Lyra retorted. "Trust me, the less they know, the better."

Taoping marinated on her words for a moment and then, seemingly accepting them, asked, "How will we get them in the house without them seeing?"

"Simple," Lyra answered confidently. "You just walk in the front with your muddy feet and make a big mess and racket, while I go in through the back. I'll hide the books under loose floorboards in our rooms."

"But then I'll get yelled at and have to clean up all the mud!" Taoping whined.

Lyra snorted. "We all have our strengths, Taoping. You're good at making a mess and I'm good at being sneaky."

"Hmm." Taoping fell silent as he tried to work out whether this was a compliment or not.

Before they knew it, they could make out their home through the trees that surrounded it.

"Remember the plan," Lyra instructed. "You walk straight in and make a big commotion. You should probably touch the walls with your hands."

Taoping groaned but nodded in agreement. "Okay…" He handed his scrolls to Lyra, who stuffed them all in her baggy pants. She knew looked ridiculous, but at least she wouldn't drop anything.

The pair separated as Taoping trudged up the front path, while Lyra made her way around the fence's perimeter to where they kept the pigs in back. Choosing to hop the fence before the pigs would see her and unleash a chorus of snorting, she crept around the house and managed to enter from the back. She paused in the doorway, listening. After a moment she heard a loud choir of female squawking punctuated by Taoping's guilty sounding voice. Smiling to herself, Lyra snuck to first her room and then Taoping's, prying up the loose wooden slats that made up the floors of their rooms and stuffing the scrolls in the hollow spaces beneath them. She was just dusting her hands off on her shirt when she heard her mother's voice calling the house's residents to dinner.

The atmosphere around the table was tense as they dug into their meal, but Lyra didn't care. Her mind was on the books in her room, particularly the Earth Kingdom scroll. She wondered what was on an Earth Kingdom noblewoman's mind that would compel her to put a brush to parchment.

"Where were you, Lyra?" she heard her mother saying, coming back to her as though from a great distance. "Taoping came back before you and he was filthy from head to toe. I thought you went out together."

"Taoping left before me," Lyra lied swiftly, ignoring Taoping's scowls. "I wasn't done yet so I sent him home."

"You shouldn't let him walk home by himself," her mother admonished. "He's obviously too young to handle it."

Lyra endured her mother's scoldings and when the meal was done, hastily helped with the dishes. It seemed to take an eternity before she was finally able to retreat to her room and pry up the loose plank to extract the scroll that had lingered in her mind all through dinner. Brushing the dirt off, she carefully unfurled it. "The Letters and Works of Lady Bao: Grievances and Triumphs of a Gentlewoman" was written on the first line. Lyra's heart leapt and her eyes began to dance across the page.

…

Years later, it would seem to Lyra that she could divide her life into two sections: before she found Lady Bao and after. It felt as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes after she tore through Lady Bao's words. Never had she thought so deeply about the condition of women. She had always had a vague sense of injustice, but she could never articulate what was wrong, and what should be. The unknown Lady Bao had given her these tools, and Lyra could never be the same.

As an example, Lyra's mother had never seemed an interesting figure to her - she was just there, lingering on the sidelines of Lyra's consciousness, neither one too concerned with the other. Now she was an object of study in the context of Lyra's enlightenment.

Her mother had lived in a larger town on a different island, but had left it for the backwater of Hira'a to marry Lyra's father: a local magistrate who owned a melon grove. Lyra knew her mother came from somewhat more illustrious origins than her father. Her father, Lyra's grandfather, had been the last Avatar, though this was hardly something to be proud of.

This history was running through Lyra's head as she fiddled out the upbeat staccato of The Burning Sky, a patriotic song she had mastered from the jinghu music book she had purchased. When the song was over, she looked up and saw her mother leaning on the doorframe, watching her with a smile on her face.

"I remember when the soldiers would march out of our town when I was small, the village players would come out and perform 'The Burning Sun'. I always thought it was a wonderful song for our heroes to hear as they left. You really play it beautifully, Lyra."

"Thanks, Mom," Lyra replied, quite surprised. Her mother rarely noticed anything she did, and even more out-of-character was a compliment.

Her mother smiled at her for a moment, then turned on her heel and went into the kitchen. After a moment, Lyra cast away her jinghu and followed.

"Mom?" Lyra called.

"What is it?" Her mother didn't look up from the dishes she was scrubbing in the basin.

Lyra got down on her knees on the other side of the basin and began drying the dishes, knowing her mother would be much more amenable to conversation if some help was given. "Why did you come to Hira'a?"

A look of genuine confusion appeared on her mother's face. "What kind of question is that? You know why - to marry your father!"

Lyra pushed a wet strand of hair out of her face. "I know, but why couldn't he go to where you're from?"

"Why would he have done that? He had land; a job. All I inherited from my father was that headpiece. I showed it to you." Lyra's mother sounded genuinely puzzled.

Lyra worked in silence for a while, considering the logic of this. Lady Bao had argued that as long as women were expected to leave their families to join that of their husband's, they would be forever isolated and powerless, without friends or families to help support their aims. But Lyra's father couldn't have very well transported his melon grove, could he? If Lyra's mother had nothing of value, then it made sense she would travel to the wealth. Though this raised another interesting point…

"Did your brothers inherit anything from your father?" Lyra queried.

"Yes, we had quite a large farm. It was divided between three of my brothers. Donglu didn't get anything though since he became a fire sage," her mother replied, scrubbing a particularly stubborn bit of crust off of a bowl, making water slop onto the floor. "Damn!" she exclaimed.

Lyra handed her a rag before continuing with a line of inquiry. "But why did they get land and you didn't?"

Her mother paused and looked her daughter in the eye. "I know you like to think about questions like this, Lyra, but it just seems to upset you, so maybe you're better off doing something else with your time."

Lyra ignored this statement and pressed again. "Why did they get land and you didn't?"

Her mother slapped the rag down on the ground, suddenly annoyed. "Because that's just the way it is, Lyra. It's just the way it is! Besides, the whole island blew up in a volcanic eruption. What they inherited was useless; not worth the taxes they paid on it."

"But still," Lyra continued, undaunted by her mother's clear irritation, "didn't your father love you enough to give you something?"

Lyra's face snapped back so quickly that she could hardly comprehend the slap her mother had just given her. The force of it was so great that she actually fell back from her crouch onto her backside. She was so shocked she almost missed the tears glistening in her mother's eyes. "Don't you ever suggest that my father didn't love me. He loved all of us. He died for us."

Lyra couldn't bring herself to say anything, so stunned was she by the violence of her mother's reaction. Sprawled out on the floor, she simply clutched her face, which was stinging.

"Ungrateful child!" Her mother hissed. "You won't get a thing from your own father when you get married, I can promise you that. Everything we had went to your sister when that prince stole her from us. A prince and we still had to provide a dowry! Seems a pretty poor trade off to me. We had to pay for the privilege of having our daughter kidnapped from her home, and to add insult to injury, we were left with the likes of you - plain, useless, and a troublemaker to boot!"

Unbidden, tears flowed into Lyra's eyes. Was this how her mother truly felt about her? A poor replacement for the favored daughter? A ghost who Lyra could hardly remember, but still was overshadowed by.

"You're - you're wrong." Lyra's voice cracked, and tears overflowed. Hastily wiping the signs of weakness away, she jumped to her feet and looked into her mother's careworn face. Gathering her emotional strength, the voice that uttered her next words did not betray her, rather were pure venom. "I'm not going to get married; I'm going to be someone, and then you'll be sorry you ever crossed me."

With that parting threat, she pushed past her mother and left the room.

...

Lyra tore up the stone stairs of her house, leaving her mother and the washing behind her. Her mother did not call her back. A plain and useless troublemaker was she? She had half a mind to turn around and upend the washing over her mother's head, but she wasn't so impulsive. She had to be craftier.

Entering her room, Lyra flopped down on her cot, bouncing a little from the tautness of the woven rope. Plain, useless, and a troublemaker to boot was running on a loop in her mind, getting louder and louder until she thought she might burst. Well, what could she do if she was plain? She was sure Lihuang would have endless suggestions. Useless? It was true that her sewing was pathetic, she didn't know how to cook, and cleaning was something she only did if forced. Was she a troublemaker? If thinking meant making trouble, then absolutely.


	3. Chapter 3

"I've had a letter from Yizheng," Lihuang announced the next day at dinner, producing a grimy little scroll from her sleeve. "He says he'll be here on two weeks leave from the front."

Lyra's father held his hand out for the scroll, which Lihuang gave to him. His eyes scanned the parchment. "It says he'll be here in ten days, but he sent it a week ago."

Her eyes lighting up, Lyra's mother exclaimed, "Why, then he'll be here in three days! We'll need to clean this place from top to bottom, girls."

Lyra suppressed a groan, but Lihuang nodded eagerly. She leaned over the table and addressed her sons, Xinglu and Xingdu, loudly. "My sons! Your father is coming home in three days! You must take care to be on your best behavior and show him all that you've learned."

The two little boys looked up, rather startled. Xinglu still had his hand on Xingdu's plate, where he had been trying to grab a slice of melon.

"All they'll be able to show Yizheng is how high they can pull each others' wedgies," Lyra whispered in an undertone to Taoping, who snickered quietly.

…

The next few days were spent in a flurry of cleaning and cooking - the night of Yizheng's homecoming, they were meant to have his favorite barbeque pork, and of course the home needed to be spotless. They were so busy that even Taoping was enlisted to sweep.

Lyra was therefore exhausted when the door finally flew open, revealing Yizheng and her father, who had gone down to the harbor with their donkey to haul Yizheng's possessions back.

"We're back," her father announced, his voice sounding very gruff. Lyra heard a shriek as her mother rushed past her, tossing aside her cleaning rag and throwing her arms around Yizheng. "My son, my son," she sobbed. Yizheng held her back with one arm.

"Mom, I – " he tried to speak, but before he could get a word out, Lyra's mother screamed again.

"Yizheng, what happened to your arm?" She stepped back and fixed her eyes on Yizheng's left sleeve, which now upon closer examination seemed to hang limply at his side, only a stump cut off above the elbow to fill it.

Lyra could not suppress a gasp of horror at the sight of her limbless brother, but this was overshadowed by a heavy thump behind her. Lihuang had fainted.

Lihuang had been carried to bed by the combined efforts of Lyra's parents, herself, and Taoping. Yizheng had attempted to help, but his mother had waved him off fiercely. Now they all sat around the dinner table together, the mood despondent. Yizheng sat closest to the now-cold pork, half turned away from the rest of them. His sons had not dared approach him and they cowered at the other end of the table. He made no move to invite them any closer. He had not addressed Lyra or Taoping at all.

"It was an earthbender attack during the campaign to take Fuling." Yizheng began quietly, answering the unspoken question lingering in the air. "It was the only town in Da Tian province that didn't immediately surrender, so we needed to fight. We started our bombardment at about midnight so they couldn't see our position in the hill above the town. They had more earthbenders than we had anticipated though, and they gave as good as they got since we had to stay stationary to swing the arm of the trebuchet. That's I was doing – manning the trebuchet. Obviously the earthbenders knew they had to take that out since we didn't have any other long-range weapons, so they were barraging us. They managed to destroy it, and in the process my arm got pinned under the wreckage. They had to cut me free."

Tears were rolling down the face of Lyra's mother, and she wailed quietly. "My poor son, my boy!"

Lyra's father raised his head from his hands where he had buried it. "How did you survive, son? You must have been badly hurt."

Yizheng nodded in assent. "I would have, but my comrades dragged me out of the crossfire. We had a prisoner of war in our regiment – a waterbender. They took me to her and she healed me. I probably would have died if they hadn't gotten me to her in time."

"Why couldn't she sew your arm back on?" Lyra's mother asked hopelessly.

"I never saw my arm again after they cut me away," Yizheng answered glumly. "There was nothing anyone could do."

"Did it hurt?" Lyra asked thickly – it was the first, foolish question that came to her mind.

Lyra's mother made a disparaging noise in her throat, but Yizheng gazed at Lyra without emotion. "I don't remember it, to be honest. There was so much noise and chaos. Dust had gotten in my eyes and I could barely see. The last thing I heard was our commander shouting for us to keep manning the trebuchet no matter what, and then it all goes black. The next thing I knew, I was in a camp hospital behind the front being tended to by Kalla." His voice had grown curiously soft, and almost tender.

Lyra's father cleared his throat. "Kalla?"

"The waterbender who saved my life," Yizheng clarified, staring unseeingly into the corner of the room. "I owe everything to her care."

Lyra's mother let out a skeptical hiss. "Are you sure she tried her best? It suits her to have our boys maimed for life!" She ended her sentence with a hysterical upturn.

Yizheng shook his head, still not looking at them, but keeping his eyes cast firmly downward. "No, she did everything she could."

Lyra's father raised a quizzical eyebrow and exchanged glances with her mother, but said nothing. After a long pause he asked, "And of your brother? Have you heard news of Zhongwei?"

Shifting slightly, Yizheng finally looked up from the floor. "Oh yes, he's still stationed near the colonies. Just keeping the peace and so on. I don't think he'll get hurt."

Another silence stole through the room and it seemed no one dared break it. Everyone appeared lost in their own thoughts. Lyra couldn't stop stealing peeks at her brother's empty sleeve. Earthbending was an uncivilized sport for thugs, she decided. But then she recalled Lady Bao's writings…hadn't she mentioned earthbending teachers? In her mind's eye she had pictured someone like Master Wu; old, frail, and spouting useless old adages. Now she realized the truth – earthbending required no more skill than schoolboys lobbing rocks at one another, and any teaching they had was to refine their methods of barbarism.

But now another thought occurred to her – wasn't Yizheng in their kingdom? Wasn't he shooting great balls of fire at a town just like the one where Lady Bao lived? A town where people with thoughts and feelings quite as acute as her own lived? This notion needled at Lyra, and she thought of the fire crackling in the kitchen, imagining it leaping from the grate and devouring her home, just as it had across the entire Earth Kingdom.

No, that couldn't be right, Lyra decided. Look at what earthbending had done to her brother. Such a form of bending shouldn't be allowed to exist – it had no application besides destruction. And wasn't this borne out by the respective states of the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom? We have factories and machines and ships, Lyra reasoned to herself. The Earth Kingdom has mud huts and starving peasants. Of course it was fair and just that the Fire Nation would save the Earth Kingdom from itself.

Lyra's internal monologue was interrupted by her father's suggestion that they retire for the evening, and she and Taoping both rose immediately from their seats, preceded only by Xinglu and Xingdu, who seemed quite eager to remove themselves from the alien man that was their father. Lyra's parents and Yizheng didn't stir however, and she guessed their subdued conversation would continue into the night.

…

The following week was tense in the Song household. Everyone treated Yizheng as though he were made of glass; no one more so than his wife, Lihuang. She had recovered from her initial fainting spell and now seemed determined to prove a dutiful wife despite her husband's disfigurement. She would not allow Yizheng to do anything alone, whether it was taking a stroll through the melon grove, or moving steamed vegetables from the pot in the center of the dinner table to his own bowl of rice. Lyra could sense his growing irritation and from her own experience knew to make herself scarce. Lihuang however seemed oblivious to her husband's frustrated terseness and continued with her attempts to mollycoddle him. Perhaps, Lyra reflected, Lihuang had observed that Yizheng was less of a threat with only one fist, but the more likely scenario was that she was simply too foolish to perceive her husband's obvious displeasure.

For her part, Lyra tried to stay out of the house as much as possible, avoiding the black mood that clung to the corners like smoke. She liked to take her jinghu out to the far end of the fields where they grew melons, away from the workers tending the plants, where she could fiddle away under a banyan tree to her heart's content. Occasionally she eked out a few songs that she had written herself, but mostly she played her patriotic favorites.

The final notes of Ode to the Fire Lord were still vibrating from the strings of the jinghu when a voice behind her made her jump.

"That sounded really good." It was Yizheng. He was standing on the other side of the tree, looking impressed.

Lyra jumped to her feet. "Yizheng! I didn't know you were there."

Yizheng surveyed the little hollow in the roots of the tree where she had been sitting. The branches hung down low and heavy, providing a pleasant shaded space in the hot afternoon. The only sounds were the shouts of the laborers and the buzzing of a few errant bees. "You've found a nice hidey-hole. Mind if I join you?"

Completely nonplussed, Lyra answered hesitantly, "Uh, sure."

Yizheng sunk to the soft ground and made himself comfortable in the next hollow over from Lyra's, closing his eyes. Uncertainly, she lowered herself back to a seated position. She took in Yizheng's relaxed posture from her periphery. This was the closest she had been to him since his return. He looked tired, as well as older than she had ever remembered him. The black hair that was pulled into a knot at the top of his head was flecked with grey, and his skin seemed darker and rougher than before.

"Don't stop playing because of me," Yizheng spoke without opening his eyes. "It sounded really good."

Lyra picked up her jinghu tentatively, but then paused, bow poised over the string. "What should I play?" she asked him.

Yizheng stretched his lone arm out in front of him; Lyra heard his shoulder pop. "Do you know 'Without the Fire Lord, There Would No Fire Nation?"

"Yes! I love that one!" Lyra exclaimed, and immediately began to play the old classic.

As the notes of the song emanated from the jinghu, Yizheng began to sing along absentmindedly.

_Without the Fire Lord, there will be no Fire Nation._

_The Fire Lord toiled for the nation._

_The Fire Lord of one heart saved the Fire Nation._

_He pointed to the road of enlightenment for the people._

_He led the Fire Nation towards the light._

_He supported the Great War for almost one hundred years._

_He has improved people's lives._

_He built colonies behind enemy lines._

_He has the divine right to rule, bringing many advantages._

_Without the Fire Lord, there will be no Fire Nation._

"You really have a gift, Lyra. It sounds just like when the army's music troupe would play it," Yizheng told her earnestly when the song was over. "I remember Ursa saying sometimes her theater troupe would use Hira'a's orchestra when they needed more background music. Maybe you should try out for that."

"I bet Mom and Dad won't let me," Lyra replied doubtfully. "They don't want me to do anything fun."

Yizheng offered her an uncharacteristic smile. "If you bring it up at dinner tonight, I'll vouch for you. I doubt they'll tell me no on anything right now." He indicated the stump where his left arm used to be. "Perks of being a cripple."

Lyra let out a nervous giggle, unsure if it was something she should laugh at. "But you're not a cripple," she told him, feeling she should be reassuring. "You're right-handed, so you can still do most things. I hardly use my left arm."

Yizheng chuckled halfheartedly. "You should tell Lihuang that. She's hardly let me out of her sight since I got back; it's driving me mad."

"How did you come out here then?" Lyra questioned, remembering Lihuang's incessant fretting.

"Xingdu spilled his porridge on the floor. Lihuang was busy cleaning it up so I made my escape." Yizheng explained conspiratorially.

"Didn't you miss her while you were away?" Lyra asked, feeling genuinely curious. "You seem like you can't wait to get away from her and you've only been back a week."

"No," Yizheng spat. "In fact, I can't wait to go back." Lyra saw the tendons in his arm tighten as he spoke.

"Back?" Lyra uttered reflexively. "Back where?"

"Back to the front," Yizheng retorted, as though this were obvious.

Lyra fell silent for a moment, absorbing this bizarre statement. It was rare that Yizheng paid her any attention, let alone engaged in a civil conversation, so she knew she needed to choose her words carefully. "But – but will they let you go back?" was what she settled on.

"Yes," Yizheng turned his head to make eye contact with Lyra. "There aren't enough men, so they'll take any cannon fodder that they can get."

"I don't understand. Why would you want to go back, Yizheng? It sounds like – like –" Lyra cast about for the right description. "Like hell on earth."

"It is," Yizheng confirmed grimly. "Don't believe anything they tell you, Lyra. This war isn't glorious, it's brutal and cruel. I don't know why we're over there. The Fire Nation has no business interfering in the affairs of other countries. The things we did…I can see them every time I close my eyes. It's like they're burned into the backs of my eyelids." His voice quavered with suppressed emotion.

"But I thought the Earth Kingdom is full of primitive barbarians?" Lyra queried, shocked. "They need our help to better themselves."

Yizheng let out a bark of mirthless laughter. "They are primitive and poor, but what we're doing is not 'bettering' them. It's just putting them under our control so we can tap their mines and use their labor."

This was too much for Lyra to process. Her brother was telling her that everything she believed was a lie? It was unbelievable. All she could do was compartmentalize it in some back recess of her brain so she could ask the question for which she still didn't have an answer.

"I still don't understand why you want to go back," Lyra persisted. "You must have some reason. Surely Lihuang isn't that bad that you would rather die than be home." She offered him a slight grin.

Yizheng did not return the smile, but instead looked up at the banyan's immense canopy. "No, it's not that. I have my own reasons for wanting to go back."

"Like what?" Lyra was still smiling slightly, looking over at him. "The food's really good?"

"Don't be stupid," Yizheng snapped.

Lyra's curiosity was intense. What on earth could draw her brother back into a warzone, away from his family and to certain danger? Unless it was –

"A girl!" Lyra blurted out; the realization hitting her at once. "You have some other woman over there."

Yizheng remained motionless, giving no acknowledgement to Lyra's pronouncement, but she was certain that she was right. The moment's quiet between them allowed her enough reflection to spark another epiphany. "It's the waterbending girl, isn't it? Kanna or whatever her name was."

"Kalla," Yizheng corrected quietly, looking down at his one remaining hand, his back hunched.

Lyra chortled in disbelief. "So what, you're risking your life going back just so you can fuck a Water Tribe whore?" The words had barely left her lips when she felt a sharp blow connect to her ear. "Ow!" she shrieked.

"Don't talk about her like that," Yizheng snarled, suddenly crouched and very close to her. "You don't know anything."

The violence of Yizheng's reaction had startled Lyra, and she could not stop the immediate overflowing of tears from her eyes. She hastened to wipe them away, but just as abruptly as Yizheng had punched her, all the fight seemed to go out of him, and slumped against the tree.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "Kalla says I need to stop lashing out at people, so I've been trying to be better."

Lyra said nothing as her ear was still ringing, but Yizheng continued talking. "It's not all about 'fucking', as you so crudely put it, Lyra." He shot her a reproachful look. "She needs me to protect her. Otherwise the other men abuse her and use her shamelessly."

A multitude of thoughts ran through Lyra's head. How would Yizheng be able to protect the waterbender with only one arm? Why did a waterbender need protection from a nonbender anyway? And if they were fucking, and she was a prisoner, wasn't Yizheng abusing and using her shamelessly as well? How could the woman refuse him in such a situation? But the most prominent thought of all was: my brother is a madman.

"I – I see," Lyra swallowed.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Yizheng gazed at her, pleadingly. "You've always been different, Lyra. I thought you might understand."

All Lyra wanted to do was to extricate herself from this highly uncomfortable encounter, but she also realized that this was a secret that gave her power over her brother, and with her ear throbbing painfully, a bit of power was precisely what she needed.

"Of course I understand. I won't tell a soul," she promised.


	4. Chapter 4

"Again, people!" Master Zhang rapped his podium with his baton. "And this time with verve! It would be a national disgrace to perform before the Fire Lord with such a lackluster routine!"

Lyra straightened up in her chair, paying rapt attention to the venerable conductor's instructions. It had been nearly a year since she had joined Hira'a's orchestra and in that time, there had been no dearth of excitement. The group had entered a countrywide competition with the stated purpose of finding the best symphony in the Fire Nation, and to Master Zhang's intense pride, their backcountry ensemble had been chosen as a finalist. This was of course a great honor in itself, but even greater furor had been generated when the participants had learned that their final performance would be staged in the Fire Nation capital before the Fire Lord himself, along with his family. It was perhaps this impending judgment that explained the appreciably higher level of tolerance for Master Zhang's artistic neuroses as he launched them for the tenth time into the song they had been perfecting: Onwards to the Final Victory.

Yizheng had been true to his word all those months ago to support Lyra's foray into the community orchestra, and her parents apparently felt they had no choice to but agree to her matriculation when he had pledged on his final night before he returned to the front that nothing had warmed his heart more than the sound of her jinghu, and that it was her patriotic duty to enlighten the people of Hira'a through her renditions of patriotic tunes. However, her first few months had been more difficult than she had anticipated. There were two other jinghu players: a plump middle-aged woman whose small hands produced an extremely expressive vibrato, and a withered old man who could fiddle so quickly his bow became a blur. They were quick to point out Lyra's incorrect grip and poor posture, but praised her effusively when she improved. Besides her amateur technique, she realized that reading the sheets of music did not come naturally to her and she often found herself listening more to what sounds were coming from her fellow jinghu players rather than interpreting the notes herself.

Noting the disapproving glares directed her way from the people around her when she was half a beat behind everyone else, Lyra had resolved to work harder. She would go home and play tirelessly through the practice book she had been issued, and in the spare moments before Master Zhang would call them to attention, she would ask her fellows to listen to her perform some musical phrase, and comparing it to the written music, tell her whether she got it right.

Now, as the relentless salvo of the military hymn beat out around her, she could tell her practice had paid off – her jinghu was indistinguishable from the rest of her section.

An hour later, when Master Zhang called the session to the end, rather than immediately dismissing them, he rapped his baton on the wooden stand and called for order. "I have received a communication from the official competition body. They tell us that there will be an official tour given of the capital by city officials for all participants in the competition." At this there was an outbreak of excited murmuring; most people had never set foot in the capital.

"Additionally," Master Zhang raised his voice so it carried over the animated hum of the crowd. "We are going to be allowed to play one song for the Fire Lord in addition to our official entry. It should be something characteristic of our region. I'm hoping that everyone can come next time with some ideas for what song we should choose. Thank you all." Before he could step away from his lectern, the eager discussion amongst the room's occupants recommenced.

As Lyra walked home from the old rice storehouse the orchestral group used as its practice venue, she pondered what sort of song she wanted to suggest. She could do a rudimentary rendition of many island folk songs, but they had never appealed to her the way anthems and military themes did. She was quite sure some silly old ballad about the most beautiful maiden on the island would not pass muster for the Fire Lord.

Later, when she had been reluctantly recruited into helping Lihuang darn Xinglu and Xingdu's stockings, she brought up the quandary so to fill the silence between them. Ever since Yizheng had returned to the front, Lihuang had been very reserved, almost mournful. Lyra couldn't understand it – Yizheng's mercurial temper had put the whole house on edge and she constantly felt obliged to avert her eyes whenever he found himself limited by his injury, which was often. Sometimes she wondered if Lihuang's sorrowful disposition indicated that she suspected Yizheng's secret, but true to her promise, Lyra never mentioned the waterbender.

"A song from the islands?" Lihuang asked vaguely. "To be performed before the Fire Lord?"

"Yes," Lyra affirmed. "But all I can think of are ditties like 'Give Me a Strong Man With a Boat' and 'Hibiscus-Picking Song'."

"No, those won't do at all," Lihuang mused, looking rather thoughtful as her needle flashed rhythmically. "For the Fire Lord, it needs to be relevant to him somehow. In the capital they think islanders are rebellious savages, you know. It should be something that shows him our loyalty, but also tells him about the strength in our unique culture."

"Strength in our unique culture?" Lyra repeated back at her uncomprehendingly.

"Certainly," Lihuang replied eagerly. "After all, Fire Nation navy's ship designs were based on our traditional voyaging boats right here in the islands."

"How did you know that?" Lyra asked, impressed.

"My father was an engineer in the navy. He was on the team that added the resealable bow to the front of the ships," Lihuang told her, a note of pride in her tone.

"Wow, I never knew that," Lyra admitted, staring down at the hole in Xingdu's stocking. She hadn't made any progress.

"Well you never asked," Lihuang retorted. Lyra looked up guiltily, but was relieved to see her sister-in-law was smiling.

Three days later, Lyra was to be found under the same banyan tree where Yizheng had accosted her, this time reading The Great Leader: An Accounting of Fire Lord Sozin's Heroics. The matter of the orchestra's second song had long since passed from her mind, so when she heard Lihuang's voice shouting her name, she couldn't imagine why.

"I'm here," Lyra rose from the soft earthy ground blearily, expecting that Lihuang was here to tell her that her mother needed her to clean the pig pen, or some other unsavory chore.

"Oh good, I found you!" The color was high in Lihuang's cheeks and there was an air of eager anticipation about her. She immediately sank to the ground next to where Lyra had been sitting and pulled a roll of parchment from her sleeve. "I wanted to show you something."

"Show me something?" Lyra was completed befuddled.

"Yes, yes. Sit down!" Lihuang patted the ground impatiently. Lyra sat down again, bemused.

As she unspooled the parchment, impeccable calligraphy was revealed. "I was thinking about what song your orchestra should perform for the Fire Lord and I decided to write something myself. There were just no good folk tunes that captured the right sort of message that we want to send."

Lyra blinked. "I didn't know we wanted to send a message."

Lihuang rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Lyra. I thought you were smart. Don't you see the opportunity here? We want people to know that we here in the islands aren't stupid or backwards. We are loyal and ready to contribute! So that's what I tried to show in the song. Here, read it." She thrust the scroll into Lyra's lap.

Straightening the paper, Lyra began to read.

_Flying in the blue sky, the pelican makes way._

_The capital is calling his name._

_He brings the love from islanders far away,_

_Whose loyalty to the Fire Lord he proclaims._

_Dancing islanders love our land!_

_With the capital, we will band._

_Weak enemies die by our hand!_

_For the Fire Lord, we'll always stand._

_In our blue waters, the fish swims rapidly,_

_He goes to join the navy in the sea._

_He brings the strength of nautical machinery_

_That will lead us to victory._

_Dancing islanders love our land!_

_With the capital, we will band._

_Weak enemies die by our hand!_

_For the Fire Lord, we'll always stand._

_Island men long to fight for the Fire Lord._

_For him they sharpen their swords._

_In the heat of battle, they'll loudly roar._

_With them we'll easily win the war._

_Dancing islanders love our land!_

_With the capital, we will band._

_Weak enemies die by our hand!_

_For the Fire Lord, we'll always stand._

When Lyra was done reading, she looked up at Lihuang, who was sitting with an expectant, but slightly anxious expression. "Well? What do you think?" she prodded.

"I think it's amazing, Lihuang," Lyra told her truthfully. "I never knew you could write stuff like that."

"Really?" A true smile blossomed across Lihuang's thin face, making her look almost giddy. "Well you know what they say; sometimes when you love your country so much, it can make you do things you couldn't have done otherwise."

"Yeah you're right," Lyra agreed. "But have you thought about what sort of music you want it to be sung to?"

"Not yet, but that's where I was hoping you could help me," Lihuang admitted. "Do you have your jinghu?"

"Yes!" Lyra grabbed the jinghu, which had been lying on the other side of her.

For the next several hours Lyra and Lihuang worked out how they thought the song should be sung, and then, what sort of instrumental composition would provide the best background. By the time they were finished, the shadows were long and the crickets were humming.

"Well I think that's passable for now," Lihuang leaned against the tree, stretching out her back. "We still have three more days before your next rehearsal. Maybe we can still improve it."

Lyra set down her fiddle and flexed her fingers. It was quite difficult to set music to lyrics and her hands were sore from all the variations Lihuang had wanted demonstrated. Still, she had unexpectedly enjoyed herself and found her sister-in-law to be good company.

"Hey, I know," Lyra turned to face Lihuang. "Why don't you come with me to next practice. I think Master Zhang will be really impressed to hear that you wrote it. I bet it's way better than anything anyone else will come up with."

To Lyra's surprise, Lihuang's countenance fell and she averted her eyes. "Oh no, I couldn't do that."

"But why?" Lyra pressed. "It's your song. Master Zhang may even want you to write more for us to play in the spring concert."

"I said no," Lihuang snapped forcefully, clutching her arms rather protectively around herself.

Taken aback, Lyra paused for a moment. "Oh. Okay."

She had just begun to clear away her jinghu and the scrolls littered around them when she heard Lihuang stir. "Listen, Lyra. It's not that I don't want to come," she said quietly.

"Then what?" Lyra didn't turn around. She was hurt at Lihuang's harsh retort. For once they had actually gotten along, and then Lihuang had to ruin it.

"I want you to go and present it to Master Zhang as your song," Lihuang confessed softly.

Lyra spun around at this strange announcement. "What? Why?" she demanded.

Fiddling with the hem of her pants, Lihuang responded hesitantly. "I don't think Yizheng or your parents would like it very much if I went. They probably wouldn't approve of me writing songs – they'd say I was putting my fertility at risk by doing something too mannish."

"Oh." Lyra flopped back down on the ground next to Lihuang. "So what? That's complete rubbish. You should do what you like. And it's a really good song. You deserve the credit."

Lihuang laughed quietly. "You don't understand my position, Lyra. You wouldn't remember, but I married Yizheng without a dowry. My father had gambled away our family money after he retired, but because the betrothal had been set years before, your parents decided to honor it. My mother told me that to make up for their charity, I had to devote myself to being a good wife to Yizheng, so that's all I've ever tried to be. I wouldn't dare do something that they disapproved of." Lihuang was clasping and unclasping her pale hands in a nervous sort of way. Her long black hair had escaped the braid at her nape and acted as a kind of curtain, hiding her expression as she kept her gaze resolutely forward.

"But," Lyra wondered tentatively. "Are you really miserable?"

Exhaling a bit, Lihuang inclined her head toward Lyra. "No," she said, and her tone was lighter. "I love my sons and your parents have been good to me."

"And Yizheng?"

Lihuang's face grew stony at the mention of her husband. For a moment, Lyra wondered if she had pushed things too far, but then Lihuang craned her neck around the tree, and seeming to establish that they were unobserved, leaned forward furtively. "I'll give you a piece of advice, Lyra – get your own money. That is the most important thing. We women can love a single man forever, but that same man is capricious and will love 20 women in a lifetime. And all wives can do is hope he doesn't set us aside. At least if you have your own funds you will not be dependent on anyone."

Lyra's heart had skipped a few beats – Lihuang must know about the waterbender, she decided, but that wasn't the most interesting part of this speech. "But Lihuang, that's why we need to change the laws. We need girls to get the same education as boys, and then have well-paying job opportunities. And the inheritance laws are bogus too – " Lyra broke off at the dismissive flapping of Lihuang's hands.

"Oh Lyra," Lihuang laughed in a flippant sort of way. "Do you really think that will happen? Maybe in a hundred years, but not in our lifetimes. And certainly not the way you do it."

"Why do you say that?" Lyra questioned, feeling nettled.

Lihuang shrugged disdainfully. "I mean you can't go around lecturing people on women serving in the army and all that. You just look like a lunatic. Social outcasts don't convince anyone to change their ways."

"Well then what should I do?" Lyra parried, waspishness creeping into her voice. "Give up and just accept my fate to be enslaved to a man with 20 other women?"

"I don't know," Lihuang said vaguely and she gazed pensively across the watermelon field. "But I do know more people will listen to you when they feel you are an example to the community, not a pariah."

"But what does that mean?" Lyra pushed, a frisson in her voice.

Lihuang swiveled her head back towards Lyra and fixed her with a piercing gaze, their amber eyes boring into one another's. "It means you need to be pretty, eloquent, and well-mannered. In short, a lady."


	5. Chapter 5

When Master Zhang selected Lihuang's song as the second act of the orchestra's performance for the Fire Lord, Lyra did not find herself surprised. As she had predicted, the other submissions were either old harvest chants sung amongst peasants whilst berry-picking or else mournful laments from parents to the daughters they were giving away to be married.

As it happened, when Lyra had come in early and handed Master Zhang the painstakingly neat scroll with both the lyrics and arrangements for the different instrumental sections, he had opened it with a rather bored expression. As he had read through it however, his furrowed eyebrows rose and he blinked in surprise.

"You wrote this?" he asked, peering down at her skeptically from his great height.

"Yes," Lyra squeaked, her insides squirming with guilt. His dark, droopy eyes flicked between her face and the parchment. She tried not to blink.

The silence stretched between them for what felt like an uncomfortably long time. Master Zhang was still studying the document, his thick fingers drumming out a rhythm on his podium that Lyra recognized as the underpinnings of the melody she and Lihuang had settled on.

Eventually, he set the paper down and raised a large hand to tug thoughtfully at his beard. He gazed past Lyra into the cavernous room, where now people were starting to filter in noisily for the start of the practice session.

"This may be just what we're looking for," he mused, almost to himself. "It's the right story anyway…" He jerked his head back at Lyra, jowls quivering. "But you'll find out what I've selected when I announce my choice next week."

Now the whole orchestra had their parts of the arrangement already in front of them on their music stands and many people were studying it with interest. To Lyra's left she heard her fellow jinghu players discussing the new piece vociferously.

"What is this garbage about 'dancing islanders'?" the old man was storming loudly. "I don't dance for anyone, especially none of those snobs in the capital."

"Come now," the woman tutted. "Surely we would dance for the Fire Lord if he wanted to see it? But I've never heard of that song before and I thought it was supposed to be something from our island."

"Settle down, please," Master Zhang's voice boomed. "As you can see, I have already placed the new song on everybody's music stand. Congratulations to Song Lyra who wrote it. I have solicited Meimei – " he gestured at a pretty girl who played the pipa, " – to sing along with our performance. You'll all remember her talents when she sang the national march for us at the winter concert."

Despite the brevity of this mention, Lyra's cheeks were burning. She could feel the eyes of her neighbors boring into her, but she kept herself facing resolutely forward.

If Lyra thought the reaction of the old man in her orchestra was critical, it was nothing compared to her father when he returned home that evening. He burst through the door of the sitting room where the family was watching Xinglu and Xingdu put on a silly play that Taoping had authored called 'Firebenders versus Airbenders'. All activity ceased as six pairs of eyes swiveled toward to the doorway where he stood, red-faced and quaking, looking furious. Lyra had no idea what this could possibly be about until, taking in her father's full appearance, she noticed a familiar packet clutched in his fist: it was the music score that Master Zhang had put on everyone's stand at the beginning of practice that day. Her heart sank.

Her father did not address anyone in the room, but marched up to where Lyra sat. She remained stock still, not taking her eyes from his balled fists. At once, he exploded. "What is this?!" He aggressively waved the papers in her face. "Tell me, you little beggar – what is this?!"

Lyra swallowed. "It's a song that, uh, I wrote." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lihuang shift, but it was the only movement in the room. Everyone else seemed to have turned to stone.

Her father pulled his arm back, and for a moment Lyra braced for a bone-cracking punch, but instead he threw the papers at her head. They did not reach their target and fluttered to the ground pointlessly. This seemed to enrage her father further, and she realized a moment too late that his leg was swinging forward. She tried to scramble out of the way, but the well-aimed kick connected painfully with the right side of her ribcage and she was thrown back against the wall, the wind knocked out of her.

"Jinzuk!" Lyra's mother squealed, scooting back from the fray as quickly as she could. "Why are you doing this? What's the girl done?"

"I'll tell you what she's done, Rina," her father spat, glaring down at Lyra contemptuously. "She has shamed us before our whole community. Old Man Ma sought me out today at my melon field to show me this drivel that my daughter had written for the orchestra to be performed before the Fire Lord himself. She has condensed our entire culture into a disgusting parody; reduced us to dancing minstrels for the Royal Family's entertainment with this rubbish."

Lyra's mother cautiously picked up one the sheets of music that had landed closest to her and scanned it quickly. From her prone position on the stone floor, Lyra saw her mouthing the words "dancing islanders". Her brow crumpled and she put a weary hand to her brow.

"Honestly Lyra, just when I thought you were getting better. You were finally acting like a young lady, and then you go and do this. We should never have let you join that orchestra. You are incapable of conducting yourself with dignity."

Lyra remained still and silent – she did not dare reply, nor did not trust herself to try and get up; for one she wasn't sure if she could manage it with the stabbing pain in her ribs, but she also didn't want to invite further attack with any display of fortitude.

Raising a menacing finger, Lyra's father hissed, "You are never going to that orchestra again, young miss. You are never leaving this house again, at least until I find you a husband that can control you." He looked rather wild under his unkempt grey beard, which fluttered with every word he uttered.

"Quite right, Jinzuk," Lyra's mother affirmed primly, clasping her skinny fingers together in a conclusive sort of way. "Lyra, go to your room at once."

No one spoke as Lyra heaved herself off the ground and staggered out of the room. Despite the immense pain she felt with every step, she made haste, wanting to leave before more violence was inflicted on her.

When she finally made it to her room and collapsed on the bed, she lay flat and still, staring at the ceiling, trying to will the pain in her ribs to lessen. The right side of her chest where her father's foot had connected was tender to the touch, and she wondered if it was cracked or even broken.

Despite her physical trauma, Lyra did not cry. To cry was to admit weakness, and she could no longer allow herself that. Mastery over herself, it seemed, was the only weapon in her arsenal. The only feeling coursing through her at the moment was a strange sort of jealousy over her father. How wonderful it must be to have the ability to control others; to use fear and intimidation to enact one's own will. She marveled at how easy it was for those with power – even if it was only over one's own family.

For a while muted echoes of her family talking drifted through the walls. From the sounds of alternating condescension and resignation, Lyra could tell she was the topic of discussion. Eventually this faded away into silence as everyone went to bed. After very long time, there was a quiet knock on the door and Lihuang's voice whispered, "It's me. Can I come in?"

"Yes," Lyra croaked.

Lihuang appeared, her heart-shaped face dark with concern. She was carrying a bundle, which she set down on the floor next to Lyra's bed. Falling onto her knees, she gave Lyra a once-over before grabbing her hand.

"Lyra, I am so so sorry," she intoned softly. "I am going to tell your parents tomorrow that I wrote that song. I should've said something when your dad first started yelling; I don't know why I – "

"Stop." Lyra interrupted. "I don't want you to do that. Then he'll just beat you up too, and how will that help anyone?"

Lihuang's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she nodded. "Then tell me how I can help you. I have to make it up to you somehow."

Lyra gripped Lihuang's hand tightly. "Convince them to let me keep going to orchestra practice and to perform for the Fire Lord."

Lihuang's expression grew anxious. "How can I do that?"

"I don't know; tell them that Master Zhang has already submitted my name to the capital or something and the Fire Lord would be really insulted if I didn't show up," Lyra invented desperately. "They think you're the perfect lady, Lihuang. They'll listen to you."

Lihuang raised a doubtful eyebrow. "I don't know about that. But," her expression grew thoughtful. "There may be a way." She gazed down at Lyra. "You'll have to give me a few days, though."

"What are you going to do?" Lyra asked curiously.

"You'll just have to trust me," Lihuang stated authoritatively. "For now, let's clean you up."

Reaching for the bundle she had set down beside her, she pulled out long strips of bandages, and a glass jar half-full of shredded brown leaves. With an extremely gentle hand, she helped Lyra roll over so that she could untie her top. The only sliver of luck was that it was summer, so Lyra was wearing only a shawl wrapped around her chest, so Lihuang did not hurt her when she tugged it off. With her bare skin exposed, a bruise in the shape of Lyra's father's boot was already apparent.

Lihuang probed the injury with a feather-light touch. "I don't know if it's broken or not, so we'd better assume the worst." She reached into the glass jar and grabbed a generous handful of whatever foul-smelling herb it contained. Stuffing it into her mouth, she chewed for a few moments before spitting it out again onto Lyra's chest.

"Essence of harjor," she responded to Lyra's inquiring look. "It will help the bone heal if it's fractured." She then took one end of the bandages and slid it under Lyra's back so it was held there, and then proceeded to wrap it over the wet herbs. "You'll have to sit up for this part, I'm afraid," she informed Lyra regretfully. "I'll be as quick as I can." Moving extremely slowly, Lyra managed to get herself upright. Once she was seated on the edge of the bed, Lihuang moved at a frenetic pace, wrapping her chest tightly in bandages. Once this was complete, Lyra shifted experimentally.

"Hey that feels a lot better," she exclaimed. The pain was still there, of course, but it seemed to have deadened to a dull ache.

Lihuang smiled grimly, standing back to regard her handiwork. "You'll just have to wrap your shirt a bit lower; then no one will see."

Lyra caught sight of herself in the cracked mirror on the shabby vanity. She looked scrawny and wretched; her black hair hanging in greasy, matted tendrils around her ashen face. Involuntarily she dug her nails into her palms, and she looked quickly away from the mirror, only to see Lihuang staring at her.

There was a moment of silence between them before Lihuang burst out, unbidden, "You should rub egg yolk in your hair twice a week. It would help with all those flyaway hairs you have on your forehead."

"Um…okay," Lyra mumbled, rather bewildered by this ejection.

"And you should wash your face with goat's milk every night to make your skin whiter," Lihuang continued. "And your eyebrows would look better if you plucked them thinner." It seemed a dam had ruptured and all of Lihuang's long withheld opinions on Lyra's substandard beauty routine were washing over her. "In fact – let me give you a makeover, Lyra! It'll make you feel better, I promise. And you'll need it for when you go to the capital." Lihuang smiled encouragingly at Lyra, raising her eyebrows.

"O-okay," Lyra replied, still a bit shell-shocked at this turn of events.

Looking giddy, Lihuang turned to leave the room. "I'll be right back. Trust me, this is exactly what you need – you need to look good to feel good. And believe me, if you ever want a man to listen to a word you say, you'll have to be beautiful."

…

Lyra wasn't sure if "beautiful" was the right description, but as she caught sight of her reflection in the Tsungi horn before her orchestra took the stage in the Imperial Theater of the Fire Nation, there had undoubtedly been an improvement. Her hair remained stubbornly thin at the ends and would not grow longer than to allow a comically insubstantial braid, but at least the thin hairs that had formed a sort of mane around the edges of her face had been reduced. Her face was also much paler than it had ever been, though she wasn't sure if this was the goat's milk Lihuang had prescribed or the result of being confined indoors except for the twice-weekly walk to attend orchestra practice. True to her word, Lihuang had managed to convince her father to relent on his decree that Lyra was never to attend orchestra practice again. Lihuang would not breathe a word to Lyra on how she did it – all she knew was that on her first day at practice after her father's violent outburst, Master Zhang had looked up at her as she went to sit down. "Song Lyra?" he had called out. "I smoothed everything over with your father. I think he understands now how important your song is for image of Hira'a in our nation's capital."

Lyra had merely nodded, and when she returned home she had interrogated Lihuang as to what she had said to Master Zhang, but her sister-in-law had remained steadfastly tight-lipped.

Presently, as Lyra took her seat on the grand stage, she felt intimidated by the vast audience. In the distance she saw an ornately gilded red and gold balcony – surely that was where the Fire Lord was sitting, but she could not make out any details. Turning her attention away from the many staring, blinking eyes, Lyra focused on the music in front of her. When the squeaks of shifting chairs and rustling of shuffling pages had finally faded to an anticipatory silence, Lyra looked up, heart pounding, at Master Zhang's baton and waited for the heralding flick.

…

The mood was jubilant as the group filtered backstage after their performance. They had done well and had received protracted applause. Meimei, Master Zhang's choice of vocalist, had a delicate, quavering sort of voice that made the song sound a bit more slavishly adoring than Lyra and Lihuang had intended, but perhaps that was why the audience had reacted so positively. But Lyra put that out of her mind, for now they were all going to dinner, and Lyra had made arrangements with Tinghua and Pengli, two girls who played the dizi and yangqin respectively, to go to an acclaimed spicy noodle stall located in the restaurant district of the capital. They were just going to walk back to the inn in which they were lodging to store their instruments and then head out to explore.

When the group began pushing their way through the doors of the guesthouse, the old woman who had shown them to their rooms the previous day appeared, looking harassed.

"Are you the leader of this crew?" she barked at Master Zhang.

"I am," he answered, a question in his tone.

"Is there a Song Lyra in your group? There's a messenger from the palace here for her," The woman informed him hastily.

The entire room went silent as a dozen faces turned to look at her. Feeling almost out-of-body, Lyra felt her arm raise and heard herself say, "I'm Song Lyra."

"Oh good." The woman seized her by the arm and dragged her through to a room off the entrance hall. No one made any move to stop this procession.

Pushed through the doorway, Lyra saw a young man in a dark red uniform stand up from the chair where he had been waiting. "Are you Song Lyra?" he asked authoritatively.

"Yes," Lyra answered nervously.

"I come with a message from Prince Ozai," the man began importantly, puffing his chest out. "You have been invited to dine with the prince and his wife, Princess Ursa. I am to take you to the palace immediately."

Lyra's mouth fell open in shock. She had scarcely remembered that her sister lived in the capital, let alone that she was a princess in the royal family. Could it be that now, a decade after their last parting, she was finally going to clap eyes on the mysterious creature that had always been a beacon of perfection in her childhood mythology? Could it be that the mythical Princess Ursa was thinking of her?

Lost in these imaginings, Lyra did not stir until the courier cleared his throat haughtily. "Oh! I need to freshen up. Let me go upstairs and – "

"All will be provided at the palace," the man cut in. "Please come at once."

Feeling rather helpless, Lyra acquiesced. "Okay."

The messenger led her through the front room where the members of the orchestra were still positioned, staring at her. She found Pengli and Tinghua huddled together in a corner and made an apologetic face at them before she was bustled out of the room.

On the street, there was a red sedan chair. A second man in the same uniform was waiting for them. Catching sight of them, he jumped forward and opened the door, which Lyra noticed was embossed with an official-looking golden flame. "Madam?" he gestured at the comfortably plush interior.

Taking a deep breath, Lyra stepped inside.


End file.
